Sunday, February 26, 2012

NASCAR: Rural America’s Favorite Traveling Shit Show

Today marks the beginning of the grueling, nine-month-long Commercialized
Crap Carnival that is the NASCAR season. A squirmy little spermy could cook
into a full blown human in the time it takes these fuckwads to decide who has
the best stickers.

For those of you lucky enough to live alone (or in a house
that isn’t smaller than an infield RV with only one television) you might be able
to ignore this turd tournament, but your purveyor of poop here isn’t so
fortunate.

I’m not going to go into the great debate over whether auto
racing is a sport or not. I was forced to take part in the Richard Petty
Driving Experience a couple of years ago (I did the ride along, because I’m too
scared/lazy to drive) and rode three laps around Indianapolis Motor Speedway at
171 mph. Needless to say, my stomach never left pit road, which was fortunate
because if it had come along I surely would have shat myself.

I was thrilled to be a part of it.

My point is that anyone who can hold their composure (and
bowels) that long while traveling that fast must have some serious conditioning
and endurance. Yet I maintain that staying awake as a spectator through an entire
race may be a more impressive feat.

It’s not the constant left turns that makes it so boring.
Anyone who thinks so I challenge to sit through a road course race, they’re
more painful than shitting a shiv sideways. And why do they swirl the opposite
direction of water in a toilet? You’re not fooling anyone, NASCAR. But I
digress.

Having lived in Michigan my whole life, I’m well aware that
it’s a requirement of citizenship to be sexually aroused by excessive horsepower
and I fully comply. I get a raging lady rod whenever I hear the revving engine
of some old-school Mopar muscle. But nothing deflates my bitch boner like the constipating
cry of “Boogity boogity boogity, let’s go racin’ boys!”

In typical Asshat American fashion each race is begun with a
Christian prayer. I’m assuming when they bow their heads they are praying that
we never run out of Middle Eastern countries to pillage and burn so that we can
continue to shamelessly flaunt our desecration of the planet by senselessly
burning countless gallons of fossil fuels every weekend just for shits and
grins.

And the latest icon of this careening cowpie contest is the
stool-shriveling banshee Danica Patrick. I’m all for powerful women and
denouncing the whole “it’s a man’s world” thing, but why does our ambassador
into auto racing have to be a sniveling, spoiled twat who storms around like
the world owes her something, demanding to be treated “like one of the guys” yet
flaunting her ownership of a vagina at every turn? Is there anyone out there, NASCAR fan or not,
who doesn’t want to see her crash and
burn? (Literally or figuratively
works here. I’d prefer both.)

Ready or not, let the shit show begin. If anyone needs me, I’ll
be curled up in the fecal position in a secluded outhouse for the next nine
months.

**Note: If this post comes off even angrier than normal, it’s
because my computer is located in the same room as the TV which hasn’t moved
from pre-race coverage the entire morning. I even flung extra feces at the
screen but the dung droppings just blend in with Danica’s dumb face. Shitty.

So I've been really busy being a lazy turd lately (which can be extremely fucking exhausting), but I didn't want either of my fecal...

If for some reason Kimmy hasn't offended the shit out of you, feel free to follow her on Facebook. Don't bother looking on Twitter, she gave up on that shit once she discovered it didn't mean anything sexual. Bastards.